Position 41 13.9N 13 21.7W

Monday 8^th June Plymouth 667 miles

Well, the wind veered as planned, and we turned north. At last – for the first time since starting nearly six weeks ago,  Irie’s heading for Plymouth. It’s a pretty lumpy night with some exciting sailing. The wind never drops below force seven, and frequently gusts up to 40 knots or more – gale eight defined as 34-40 knots. Through the night the sea state builds from moderate to occasionally rough, or waves of four to six metres in height. In fact the boat takes it all in her stride, well reefed down with half the mainsail and a scrap of genoa to steady her and the speed over the ground is quite sedate. The really big waves come in bunches of three or four, tops just breaking white in the moonlight, or looming darkly over your shoulder. Down below it’s a bit lively, but tiredness eventually overcomes the noise and rolling, and Morpheus delivers a couple of hours of slightly fitful sleep. The next phase of the plan is to keep heading for Plymouth, but much will depend on the weather, as it’s rather instable for the time of year, with unexpected lows popping up all over the place. No knot of the day or saying so far, though some wit in the readership suggested ‘Spur Lash’, searched in the book, but nothing till the follow up e-mail suggested saying it with the words rolled together - damn their eyes! Nearly as bad as the French Navy’s motto – ‘To the sea, it is the hour’, or ‘A l’eau, c’est l’heure’ (apols). Now what’s for dinner – Oh, chorizo and beans again, and the third day running means probably now building to force nine with a severe swell.